Sword and Sandal

by Roland Graeme

  “Give me that hot, tight man cunt of yours,” he demanded.

  “Take it. Fuck it! Fuck that hole. Harder, you dirty, big-dicked son of a bitch. Harder!”

  He heaved deep inside me and let out a guttural roar as he came. I felt each and every convulsion of his spurting prick pulse along the raw passageway of my ass. As he slackened his grip on my waist I leaned back against the broad expanse of his chest and watched my own cum spurt from my cock in a long, wet arc and splatter against the red brick wall.

  We pulled our pants up, and fastened them.

  “Thanks,” my fucker said, succinctly.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “That was hot. You’re a good fuck,” he told me.

  “I’m glad you liked it. I enjoyed it, too. Listen. Are you only into one-night stands? Or one-day stands, in this case? I’d really like to see you again.”

  “If you want.”

  “Good. When?”

  “Any time you wish.”

  “What about right now? What are you doing, the rest of this afternoon? This evening?”

  “Nothing in particular.”

  “Why don’t you come to my place? We can hang out. We can make love again. I’ll make us dinner.”

  “Are you a good cook? I mean, do you cook as well as you fuck?”

  “Yes. I know how to keep a man like you satisfied—in every way.”

  “Then, I accept. With pleasure.”

  “Wait. I do have a roommate. A lover.”

  “I’m not surprised. A good-looking young stud like you, with such a fine, hard body. Of course you have a lover. Tell me about him. Are you two exclusive?”

  “Not at all. Quite the contrary. We have an open relationship. And we both like threesomes.”

  “Are you thinking about getting into a threesome with him and me?”

  “Yes. I’m giving serious thought to that possibility right now, as a matter of fact. What do you think about that?”

  “If he’s as hot as you are—?”

  “He is. Hotter, if anything.”

  “Then I wouldn’t say no. I’m up for just about anything, as a matter of fact.”

  “Anything, huh? Really?”

  “Sure. Why do you ask?”

  “Only because my roommate—my lover—he’s an extracomunitaro, as a matter of fact. Does that make a difference, to you?”

  Extracomunitari was in fact a euphemism for non-Italian residents of Rome; namely, for poor nonwhites, and newcomers from Eastern Europe. These immigrants were everywhere in the city, but they were particularly conspicuous around the Stazione Termini and in some neighborhoods on the city’s eastern and southern outskirts.

  “It doesn’t make any difference to me at all, so long as he’s a hot man,” my new acquaintance declared. “But tell me some more about him. Where does he come from?”

  “He’s a black man. Coal black. He’s an African, a Sengalese.”

  “Let me guess. You take his black dick up your ass, do you?”

  “Every chance I get,” I declared. “And he lets me fuck him, too. We take turns.”

  “Fuck. Just the thought of that, of the two of you—it turns me on. Does he look like you? I don’t mean in terms of skin color, of course. Body-wise, I mean?”

  “He’s got a nice build. Muscular. Not thick like me, though. African men tend to be lean, you see. No body fat. He’s got a huge cock. Every bit as big as yours.”

  “I’d like to meet him. I’d like to fuck him. Or be fucked, by him. Make love to him—and to you—properly, in a bed.”

  “That can be arranged. Do you have a name, by the way?”

  “Certo. My name is Giovanni.”

  “I’m Gino.”

  “I want to fuck you and your big-dicked black African lover, Gino. I want to be in bed with the two of you, at once,” my new friend proclaimed, salaciously. “I like sex,” he added, by way of a considerable understatement. “All sorts of sex, so long as it’s among men.”

  “So do we. No problem,” I assured him.

  “What’s this black stud of yours like in bed?” he wanted to know, keeping his body pressed closely and intimately against mine.

  “He’s hot. He’s different from me, but I don’t think you’d be disappointed. As I said, he’s got a beautiful big dick. Maybe, on second thought, it’s not quite as big as yours, but it sure does the job. And that huge thing you’ve got between your legs would certainly get his attention. I’d love to see him sit on it and ride it.”

  The flush of excitement on Giovanni’s handsome face, and the gleam of excitement in his dark eyes, were very apparent. “He’d let me fuck him?”

  “Momar and I both like it either way. I do have to confess that I’m the greedy type. I keep him so busy fucking me that he may be a little out of practice when it comes to taking it, himself. But I’d be willing to bet that he’d open up his tight asshole for you.”

  Giovanni was silent for a moment; but I could tell that this was something he really wanted to do, and that he would need very little persuasion.

  “Come on,” I coaxed him. “Let’s go to my place. What’ve you got to lose? Nothing, except an hour or two of your time. And,” I added, “a load or two of your semen, if you’re lucky. It’s such a hot afternoon. What else is there to do, but lie in bed and suck cock, and fuck?”

  Giovanni grinned. “Well, if you put it that way—how can I refuse?”

  After that, it was simply a question of logistics.

  We compared notes about our living arrangements. Giovanni’s apartment was on the other side of the city. He’d taken public transportation to the café. My apartment was within a short driving distance, and my car was waiting. The usual question, your place or mine? was academic, in this case.

  “Come on, we’ll drive to my place, and I’ll give you a ride home afterward,” I told Giovanni.

  “Fine,” he agreed. “But first—”

  Giovanni leaned toward me. He took my face in his hands. He kissed me, on the month, tenderly. His tongue penetrated my lips and probed far inside my mouth. We sucked face, lewdly, swapping spit.

  Breaking our kiss, we smiled at each other, and then we started retracing our steps, heading back toward the street.

  “I can’t wait to meet this roommate of yours. I’m curious about him.”

  “And I can’t wait to introduce you two to each other. To say nothing of having both of you all to myself, Giovanni. I think you’re really going to like Momar. And he’s going to like you, too. I’m impatient for the three of us to get to know one another better.”

  He laughed. “By ‘better,’ do you mean ‘more intimately?’ Is that it?”

  “Yes.”

  We got into my car. We drove to my place.

  As I think I’ve said before, I lived frugally, in a caso albergo, no different from hundreds of others in Rome.

  But now I did have a roommate, a live-in lover, or however else you chose to describe him. Sharing the rent and our other expenses made good economic sense.

  Momar was indeed the son of African immigrants. Undeniably, he was black. Despite his skin color, he was as Roman as could be wished. His personality, his speech, his habits, his attitudes—they were entirely Italian.

  He worked in a warehouse, where he was in charge of the shipping department. It was his responsibility to make sure that goods were delivered to the right place, all over the world. Momar also moonlighted as a movie extra. Whenever the film studios needed an exotic-looking, dark-skinned extra, he was their man. Momar was casual about his movie work. It was a way for him to make some extra money. He accepted it, as such. He had no ambitions, and no greater expectations.

  He and I had met on the set of one of my sword and sandal flicks. I was the star, and he was just a lowly extra. I didn’t care about that. We “clicked” at once. We made small talk together between takes. I took him home with me at the end of a day’s shooting, and we fucked. Like animals, wearing each other out! We were inseparable
, after that. Before long, I invited him to move in with me.

  As I’d told Giovanni, we had an open relationship. Both of us were free to trick with other men. And we both liked threesomes, and group sex. Momar and I were made for each other.

  The Romans could be as racist as any other people. Remember, they even looked down on southern Italians, as their inferiors! And, historically, the Fascists’ determination to subjugate Ethiopia and turn it into an Italian colony hadn’t helped to promote interracial harmony.

  The Romans’ reaction to the extracomunitari was typical. The immigrants were viewed with suspicion, and even despised, in general. But whenever a Roman had to interact with an extracomunitaro, and got to know him, he accepted the foreigner as one of his own. Then, ethnic origin or skin color became irrelevant, and the Roman was quick to spring to his “fellow countryman’s” defense.

  I let Giovanni into my apartment. The windows were all open, permitting some air circulation. But the drapes were drawn, keeping the interior dark.

  “Want a drink?” I asked my guest.

  “No, thanks. What I want is to meet this roommate of yours. Is he even here?”

  “Momar usually takes a siesta at this time of the afternoon, if he can.”

  “So do I,” Giovanni said, with a laugh. “But today I got a better offer.”

  “Don’t worry,” I assured him. “You’ll have a chance to lie down, soon enough.”

  We went into the bedroom. There, in the gloom, Momar was sleeping naked on the unmade bed. As usual, he hadn’t bothered to cover himself in the heat, and his dark body was vividly contrasted to the white sheets. He had an extraordinary handsome face, round-lipped and high-cheekboned, crowned by a head of closely cropped black curls. He also had beautiful, expressive eyes, although they were closed at the moment, of course. He looked like a statue carved from some dark wood and then polished to smooth perfection all over its surface.

  Giovanni and I simply stood there, side by side, for a moment, contemplating him.

  “What a beauty,” Giovanni finally exclaimed, under his breath.

  “Yes, isn’t he?”

  “Quite exotic. And look at that cock. It really is like a melanzana [an eggplant].”

  “Do you like what you see?” I asked him.

  “I like it a lot. But I want to do more than just look. I want to touch, too. Both of you.”

  “I believe we can accommodate your request,” I said. “Come on—” I began to get undressed, and with a silent gesture, I invited Giovanni to do the same.

  When we too were nude, I got onto the bed, took Momar in my arms, and kissed him awake.

  “Hello,” he murmured, not yet bothering to open his eyes. “How’d it go at the studio?”

  “Fine,” I replied. “I did a little shopping afterward. I brought something back for you. A surprise.”

  “What kind of a surprise?”

  “The kind you especially like. His name is Giovanni.”

  Momar opened his eyes. He saw Giovanni, standing there beside the bed, naked—and erect.

  One of the many things I liked about Momar was that he was always very quick on the uptake. The unexpected presence of a strange man in our bedroom didn’t surprise him in the least. “What a pleasant surprise,” he declared.

  Momar rolled over, toward where Giovanni was standing. Sitting up, Momar put his legs over the edge of the mattress. Even in the gloom of the bedroom, Giovanni’s pale, bulky frame could clearly be seen—as could the hard-on protruding from his hairy groin. As Momar leaned forward, Giovanni’s big dick hovered only inches away from his face.

  “Exceptionally pleasant,” my lover said. “May I?” he inquired, politely.

  “Sure,” Giovanni gasped. He was already breathing more rapidly, further proof of his excitement.

  Momar leaned forward and closed his lips around the bulbous knob before him.

  Giovanni let out a sigh of pleasure. My gaze flickered between the bright gleam of arousal in Giovanni’s eyes and the sight of my boyfriend choking on his cock. But then I couldn’t stop myself from smiling with satisfaction and pride, when I saw Momar slide his mouth down on that fleshy tool all the way to its root. The sight of him sucking my pickup’s cock made me feel very horny indeed.

  Not wanting to be left out, I joined Momar in his oral worship of this godlike male. As my lover continued to swallow Giovanni’s thick shaft, I began to work on Giovanni’s low-hanging balls. The skin of his sac was coated with a fine down of hair. The puckered flesh had a musky, masculine scent, mingled with sweat. I circled the entire circumference of his sac and savored the heady essence. I took his balls in the palm of my hand, as though I was weighing them on a scale, licking them as I did so. I followed the clearly defined seam which ran along the scrotum with the tip of my tongue. Saliva dribbled from Momar’s mouth and ran down the length of the dick he was sucking, to run onto and moisten my own lips.

  Momar and I took turns going down on Giovanni. But my pickup didn’t remain passive for very long. He wanted to suck some cock, too. Soon we were lying on the bed with our bodies forming a triangle. I blew Giovanni, he blew Momar, and Momar blew me. To introduce a little variety into our geometry lesson, we then switched positions, so that I was sucking Momar, who sucked Giovanni, who sucked me.

  We processed to rimming, each of us taking turns tasting the two other men’s asses, savoring them as though they were the finest caviar being served for our delectation.

  Giovanni was licking my ass with real fervor, when he abruptly stopped and pulled his mouth away from my butt.

  “God, that’s a sweet ass,” he declared. “Do you guys have any grease?”

  “Of course,” Momar said. “Right here in the nightstand.” He pulled out the jar of lubricant which he and I always used when we fucked.

  I assumed that Giovanni wanted to screw me again, in a replay of our outdoor fuck; but I was wrong.

  “Get your cock in there,” Giovanni said to Momar. “I want to watch you fuck Gino. I’ve already fucked him once this afternoon, so he should be nice and loose for you.” He smacked my buttock sharply with the flat of his hand. “It looks as though the horny fucker can’t get enough cock today.”

  He was right!

  Momar greased his tool thoroughly with the lube. Then he positioned his cock over my waiting and very eager anal ring and slipped it into me easily. I felt his full length slide into my anus until it lay comfortably lodged deep in the warm, smooth passageway.

  For the moment, I forgot that Giovanni was there in the bedroom with us. It was as though Momar and I were in bed together at night, fucking, as we so often did before we fell asleep.

  I raised my legs higher and rested them on Momar’s broad shoulders, so he could gain an even deeper descent into my ass. Momar smiled down at me, and he started to fuck me with long, fluid strokes. I lay there taking him, relaxed, open-assed, and accommodating, joining my white body to his black one in complete intimacy. Momar leaned over and kissed me, sucking my tongue into his mouth.

  I responded to the throb of his big dick inside me, working my pelvis and humping my ass against him. We both fucked each another. The soft forest of hairs between his navel and his cock tickled the underside of my balls. He placed his hands on either side of my head to support himself and he screwed the living daylights out of my ass.

  Coming back to reality, I remembered that Giovanni was there on the bed beside us. He was watching us from the sidelines, caressing his cock with long controlled strokes. He started to fondle Momar’s ass as it moved back and forth, and from side to side.

  “Your boyfriend’s got a nice ass, Momar,” he said. “And so have you.”

  “Thank you,” the ever-polite Momar responded. “Have you ever fucked a black man?”

  “No,” Giovanni said.

  “Would you like to? You can take me next, if you want.”

  Giovanni groaned. “Jesus! Just the thought is making me hot. I’d better stop playing with myself, or I
’ll pop.” Desisting from his masturbation, he now used both of his warm hands to caress our bodies, indiscriminately.

  Momar suddenly let out a deep groan and the muscles of his stomach tensed into hard ridges. I knew instinctively that Giovanni had just stuck one of his big fingers into Momar’s tight ass.

  “Fucking hell,” Momar gasped. “Go easy in there, will you?”

  “Don’t worry,” Giovanni retorted. “It’s nothing you can’t take, I’m sure. I’m just warming your hole up for my cock.”

  He began to finger-fuck Momar. I could feel it each time he inserted his finger into Momar’s butt, because Momar’s own cock would jerk and tense even harder inside me. Momar quickly began to relax and get into the whole scenario. Each time Giovanni rammed his finger into his ass, Momar would shove his prick even deeper into me.

  “I don’t want to come yet, Gino,” Momar told me. “Let me pull out. Let Giovanni fuck me for a while.”

  “All right,” I agreed.

  Momar eased his thick tool out of my ass. He assumed the same position which I had, on his back with his legs raised.

  “Hold his legs up for me, Gino,” Giovanni said, as he dipped his fingers into the jar of lubricant and then began working his fist slowly up and down the length of his rod, greasing it.

  I knelt at Momar’s side and drew his thickset legs up to his chest, positioning him in exactly the same pose I had occupied myself. He was displaying himself in a position which would have been worthy of any actor in one of my old buddy Dirk Dervaux’s porn films. Momar’s tiny pink asshole, which looked impossibly small to accept another man’s erect cock, glistened and pouted like a greedy, petulant mouth. His balls were tightly drawn within their fleshy pouch.

  Giovanni positioned his cock before the defenseless opening. Momar tensed as Giovanni pressed his blunt head against his sphincter.

  “Relax,” I urged. “Just relax, baby.”

  Momar could not stifle his cry of discomfort as Giovanni thrust from his pelvis and his huge piece of meat entered that tiny anal aperture.

  “Oh God!” Momar cried in dismay, his brow damp and furrowed. “It’s so big. It’s too big!”

  “No, it isn’t,” I told him. “If I could take it, you can. Relax,” I whispered, holding his body still and allowing Giovanni to follow through with his thrust all the way, until his pubes pressed right against Momar’s balls. “Just relax. Take a deep breath. It’s all inside you now, baby. You’re taking all he’s got to give.”